The Perfect Duchess

by Jen YatesNZ

  He studied the delicately executed signature in the corner of the painting.

  S. R. Dearing.

  Nothing like the spidery S. P. R. Woods in the corner of each of the nudes. Thinking the ‘Heavenly Iceberg’, as the ton had dubbed her, might paint anything as sensually appealing, as blatantly sexual as the three pieces of art érotique brought a smile to his lips.

  ‘I was aware Sheri painted, but I had no idea of the level of her ability. Every bit as impressive as the S. P. R. Woods trio of nudes I discovered at Puttick’s Gallery.’

  Rogue nodded.

  ‘Did you ever discover who he is?’

  ‘No, but I live in hope—and that he paints more!’

  …

  It was easier to keep his focus on Sheri after that. When the evening ended he made a point of raising her hand to his lips, looking deeply into her eyes and enjoying the confusion he saw there and the hint of color in her cheeks. He could ruffle her demeanor. It was a start.

  Bax’s room was next to his. As they climbed the stairs, Dom said, ‘A cigar on the balcony before bed?’

  Bax, his eyes on Sheri’s silken skirts disappearing at the bend in the stairs, murmured, ‘Yeah. Probably better if I don’t know which room she’s in.’

  The punch of fury to his gut almost brought Dom to a standstill, but he forced his legs to keep climbing. No need to alert the out-sized Lothario his comment had struck him in any way.

  ‘If she didn’t tell you which was her room she didn’t invite you to call.’

  Bax chuckled.

  ‘It’d never be that easy with the ‘Heavenly! It’d have to be seduction pure and simple! A real test for my skills. Is that a little—antipathy I hear, cousin?’

  ‘Sheri’s a lady,’ Dom all but hissed. ‘Not some light-skirt you can toss behind the arras! She’s the kind of woman you marry—not—’

  ‘—just fuck for the fun of it?’ Bax happily finished for him.

  ‘I might not have put it so crudely,’ Dom growled back, his voice stiff with anger.

  ‘Of course you wouldn’t,’ Bax soothed. ‘You’re the Duke and Lady Sheri has all the hallmarks of the perfect Duchess. But dammit, Wolf, she’s what—twenty-three?—and never been fucked. Imagine the frustration! Women need it, ache for it, just as much as we do, you know. It’s just that they’ve been taught to suppress their urges. But think what pleasure I could give her. Think how it’d be, awakening the frozen princess beneath all that ice.’

  They’d reached the balcony. Dom had snagged a couple of cigars as they’d passed through his room. There was a short silence while they lit up and stared out towards the distant lake.

  ‘You damage that woman’s reputation and I’ll call you out,’ he snarled, not allowing himself the chance to rethink. The notion sat right with his honor. He would call his cousin out. In fact he’d kill the cocky bastard, if he damaged Sheri in any way.

  ‘I’m your cousin,’ Bax said easily. ‘Besides, I’m bigger than you and if you call me out I get to choose the weapons—fists, at Jackson’s!’

  ‘Hurt Sheri and I’ll take you apart however and wherever I have to do it!’

  ‘Hell, Wolf, if you’re hung up on the Iceberg yourself you only had to say!—Tell you what—’

  Dom sucked hungrily on the cigar to calm himself. It was somewhat alarming just how volatile his cousin’s casual intent towards a woman of Sheri’s caliber, made him.

  ‘—I’ll make you a little wager—’

  ‘You’ll keep your lecherous paws off Sherida Dearing. End of discussion. And just so I don’t lose my temper completely and toss you over the balcony, tell me about the new hunter you bought at Newmarket last week.’

  He definitely didn’t want to hear him crow one more time about the fat purse he’d won at the Derby by betting on the Duke of York’s Prince Leopold who’d edged the favorite out by half a length.

  …

  They should’ve left for London that morning, but a soft rain was falling and in the gentlemen’s opinion it was setting in for the day. The ride back to London therefore was out of the question and if Dom and Sheri both rode in the coach it would be crowded and uncomfortable.

  ‘So if you think Aunt Gussy will be agreeable we’ll hope for a better day tomorrow,’ he’d suggested.

  ‘Of course Mama will agree. Another day with Aunt Olwynne will delight her.’

  Sheri would happily wait a week rather than forfeit a day riding in his company. On the way down to Windermere they’d visited his old family estate in Canborough to check out the new colt sired by her Golden Boy on his Silver Lady. It had been an idyllic day, with Mama travelling by road in the ducal carriage and she and Dom with her groom as chaperone, riding cross country.

  The ladies were gathered in the morning room, their hands busy with various handwork projects while chatting about domestic issues. Sheri settled herself at a low table with sketchpad and pencils.

  Jassie had placed Jonathan on a thick quilt on the floor where he gurgled happily at Dom’s nieces crowded about him in fascination. Sheri’s fingers were busy capturing images of the child, but her mind was worrying again at the problem of Dom and Jassie.

  Like most of his peers, she imagined he saw no reason to remain celibate because he loved another man’s wife. Being the private sort, he was probably just discreet.

  Now Jassie was married would she become one of those discreet liaisons? Sheri wished that thought hadn’t occurred to her. She sketched the curve of Jassie’s cheek and the caress of a curl as she leant over the baby. Marriage suited her. Health and well-being glowed about her and couldn’t fail to draw a man who loved her.

  She and Lady Windermere were close friends. What if Jassie confided in her about such a liaison? Jealousy, ugly and painful welled in her breast. She had no right to feel that way—he’d certainly never given her any reason to do so. Male voices interrupted her thoughts.

  ‘Lordy! It’s like a chicken house in here,’ Bax grumbled striding across the room to arrange his big body on a chair at her side. ‘Looks like you’ve given yourself a crick in the neck leaning over that low table,’ he scolded. ‘You should be working at a proper angle.’

  Reaching for her pad, he flicked through the sketches.

  ‘These are good. How about doing my portrait—you know, private sittings?’

  He grinned disarmingly at her and Sheri could only laugh back and comment lightly that at six foot five and built like a national monument, she didn’t think she could find a canvas big enough to do him justice.

  Should she feel flattered, she wondered, as she considered his particular attention over the last couple of days, but reasoned she should read nothing into it. She was the only unattached and unrelated female present.

  ‘Ladies don’t usually complain about my size.’

  He grinned again, giving her a rakishly sidelong glance.

  Recognizing the innuendo, she knew by the rules of polite society she should pretend to misunderstand or give him a severe set-down, but she was tired of being so proper. In fact at twenty-three she should even try a little male-female dalliance to see if some gentleman other than the Duke of Wolverton could attract her. The Great Bax had everything going for him. Well-endowed with the dark Beresford looks, he was an impressively built man. Big—not fat. She imagined his naked person would steal a woman’s senses, a fact he traded on shamelessly.

  ‘I imagine not. I’ve heard it mentioned a time or two,’ she answered lightly.

  ‘Ouch! Should I be blushing?’

  ‘I doubt that face has seen a blush in many a year!’

  He’d made her laugh openly at him, and he was giving her the full benefit of his heated grey gaze, but she felt nothing, not even the urge to further their dalliance in the interest of light entertainment. Perhaps the popular assessment was right and she was frigid!

  ‘Let’s escape this menagerie! Come walk with me in the conservatory. We could discuss—blushing—a little more fully.’

 
; ‘No thank you,’ she said, loading her voice with mock primness. ‘Give me my pad and I’ll sketch you. I could put it up for auction. It’d probably go for a mint as all your besotted admirers tried to outbid one another!’

  ‘You’d not keep it for yourself?’

  ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘To put under your pillow—so you’d dream of me.’

  ‘Nightmares tend to keep me awake.’

  His eyes danced back at her, obviously well pleased with their repartee.

  Dom settled on the window seat behind their chairs.

  ‘Morning, Lady Sheri,’ he said, the mellow timbre of his voice quivering a nerve in her chest, when Bax’s voice though deeper still, had no effect at all.

  ‘Morning, Your Grace,’ she responded in a more formal vein then bent her head to the sketch she’d started of Bax.

  ‘Sheri’s doing a sketch of me—to keep under her pillow.’

  She shook her head then gave him a teasing smile.

  ‘I’m going to do several and make my fortune selling them to the ladies of the ton. Then you’ll find one under every pillow—’

  She stopped, color flooding her cheeks. What was she doing, allowing the rake to loosen her tongue like that? Might as well loosen your stays—and she could just imagine him suggesting it!

  ‘She’s got your measure, old chap,’ Dom interjected smoothly.

  Abruptly, Sheri rose and said, ‘I—um—need to go and see if Mama is coming down to luncheon. Excuse me.’

  It was easy to see how Bax charmed women, she thought as she crossed the room. He’d had her eating out of his hand, so to speak, even though she wasn’t in the least attracted to him. Why couldn’t she relax like that around Dom?

  Probably because she was too dashed attracted to him.’

  …

  Bax followed her progress through the room, then turned back to confront Dom.

  ‘Well, damn you, Wolf! You chased her off just as the thaw was setting in! She was just about to agree to a private tête à tête with me.’

  ‘You think?’ Dom gave his big, brash cousin a skeptical grin. ‘I’d say she left to avoid that very thing. I doubt she’d have allowed me to chase her away if she’d been in the least interested.’

  ‘I was getting further than you’ve ever got!’

  ‘I’ve never tried.’

  ‘And like we said, she’d make a perfect Duchess,’ Bax needled.

  ‘I’m not interested in your leavings!’ Dom snarled, wondering why he was reacting so intensely to what should have been mere banter.

  ‘Beat me to the prize then!’

  A stab of excitement quickened his blood. A challenge! That could be just the spur he needed to cast his lure somewhere other than at Jassie.

  ‘A small wager—like I was going to suggest last night.’

  The perfect distraction! It was a while since they’d played off against one another.

  ‘What did you have in mind?’

  His grin felt feral, even to himself.

  ‘That’s more like the big bad Wolf I know!’ Bax said with satisfaction. ‘We’ve both just acquired some new bloodstock. Prime pieces. First to claim the cherry wins the hunter from the other’s stable.’

  Dom winced. He’d finally talked Briersley, his brother-in-law, into selling him a big chestnut mare he’d wanted for ages—at an exorbitant price. She was a prime goer, poetry to watch at the fences and he planned to breed from her a little later on. Then again, Bax’s golden palomino stallion, Zeus, was just as valuable. He’d reached that point in his internal argument when Bax laughed outright as if he’d been privy to his every thought.

  ‘Doubting yourself already?’ he taunted, ‘or is your horse more important than Lady Sheri’s favors?’

  He didn’t intend to lose.

  In that split second he’d firmed his earlier decision—gone from turning it over in his mind to deciding he would seriously pursue Lady Sherida Dearing with the goal of making her his wife. Surely his wealth and status would succeed where others hadn’t even been allowed out of the starting gates? Though knowing Sheri as he did, he doubted whether either fortune or title would sway her if her heart was set against it.

  Could he change her heart? Could he change his own? Perhaps they’d just have to leave their hearts out of it.

  ‘What makes you certain there’s still a cherry to pluck? There was that business with that cad, Pritchard, a couple of years back.’

  ‘Wouldn’t worry me,’ Bax said, stretching his long legs out across the carpet and letting his eyes smolder a little. ‘I’d just like to see that magnificent body dishabille and that blonde mane spread over my pillows. And after I’d had her I’d want to paint her—so I’d have the visual of that moment forever. Wonder how I could convince her to pose for me?’

  Dom was struck with a fleeting vision of the trio of nudes in his study and wondered again at the mystery of the artist. Could it be Bax? He had the talent though he didn’t think it was his style. Too subtle. Nor did he think his big handsome cousin had the application to paint three of them.

  ‘Marry her,’ he said laconically.

  ‘Touché!’ Bax said, his laugh easy and genuine. ‘Not even for arguably the most beautiful woman in London would I put my neck in that noose!’

  ‘If you bedded her and she was still a virgin it’d be a matter of honor!’

  ‘And who is there to force me up to the mark? Aunt Gushy?’ he asked, using Windermere’s family name for Sheri’s mother, derision rife in his voice.

  ‘Me.’

  ‘You!’

  Bax pulled his legs back and sat up straight in the chair.

  Dom pinned him with a steely glare. His cousin could be a loose cannon at times, but he hadn’t thought him devoid of honor.

  ‘Prepare to lose your horse,’ he snarled. ‘I seek her hand in marriage. You want to ruin her. The loser forfeits his newest hunter. The winner however, will endow the lady with his Sussex estate. They’re both un-entailed and great horse-breeding country, which Lady Sherida will appreciate.’

  ‘That’s a bit steep, ain’t it?’ Bax grumbled. ‘Those estates came to us down the Townville line through Grandmother Alicia. They should form part of a settlement on a wife!’

  ‘Which mine would be. And since you’ve no intention of marrying, you won’t miss yours. Besides, you plan to dishonor and ruin her socially, cold-bloodedly. There should be some compensation for the lady. Contrary to what you might believe, one night with you is not adequate repayment!’

  ‘You weren’t so fastidious when the bet was on the delectable Mrs. Larsen,’ Bax smirked, then went silent for a moment before asking with a sly tilt of his head, ‘You’d really marry the Iceberg?’

  The object of their discussion came back through the door, swept a glance round the room as if to ascertain they were where she’d left them, before dropping in a graceful flurry of peach muslin to the quilt and drawing the baby up into her lap.

  ‘I need an heir. Ergo, I need a wife. Looks like she might be ready for that in her life. And—as you so recently—and helpfully—pointed out, she’d make a perfect duchess.’

  ‘Are we entering the bet in the book at Whites?’

  Dom found his glance still on Sheri. She might look cool and poised, but those pansy-brown eyes would blaze and that regal form would be majestic in anger and disdain.

  ‘Just between us. I’d not subject my future duchess to such a scandal. We’ll draw up the terms later.’

  Bax grinned and relaxed in the chair again.

  ‘I was feeling kind of bored. Guess I’m not any more!’

  Chapter 2

  Lady Kilminster had spared no extravagance for her daughter’s coming out ball. Harriet Kilminster was like an exquisitely fashioned china doll; dainty but shapely, with rich mahogany curls and eyes the bright blue of harebells. The night was a triumph for this newest diamond to grace the season. Every spotty-faced young lord with pretensions to title and wealth, every mincing
tulip of fashion and even a few hardened fortune trawlers clustered about the girl and a bevy of other young, equally giggly maidens.

  Lord, she felt old. She was wasting valuable horse training time dancing through an endless array of ballrooms, sipping countless cups of tea or listening to an infinite procession of mediocre musical performances at never-ending soirees and musicales.

  It was all so—pointless and if it weren’t for Mama she’d have returned to Springwoods yesterday. She’d been so out of sorts after their return from Windermere that Mama had commented, wondering if she were coming down with something. A case of terminal boredom, most likely. Her dance partners seemed even less inspiring than usual and the entertainment value of simpering misses holding court and young married women flirting and setting up discreet liaisons, and some not so discreet, had palled to aversion.

  She was too old, pure and simple. Most of her friends were married and breeding, not still enduring the endless posturing and display of the marriage mart. Was this all she had to look forward to? It was time to plead a headache and—

  A movement at the doorway drew every eye in the room. In black satin knee-breeches, black cut-away evening jacket over a black silk waistcoat and meticulously arranged snow white neck-cloth, the Duke of Wolverton was the epitome of masculine elegance. The wicked scar down his cheek from the Battle of Talavera only enhanced his dark, romantic looks and Sheri’s heart leapt in her breast along with every other maiden’s heart in the room.

  His eyes scanned the crowd and found her, noted her presence with a tight little smile of satisfaction, and she suddenly felt as young and giddy as any miss at her first ball. Now there was nowhere else she wanted to be but in the midst of this crush of bodies and cacophony of sound—because Dom was here.

  Would he ask her to dance? Would he get to her before that oaf, Camberwell, whose name was on her card for the next dance, a waltz? How she longed to share the closeness of the waltz with Dom.